


Scratch and Dent

by gamerfic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Humor, Missing Scene, Organized Crime, Referenced canonical character death, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Negotiator Bala-Tik and the Guavian Death Gang have seventeen solar days to sell two pissed-off, hungry rathtars (or what's left of them) to the highest bidder or face reprisal from the crime boss to whom they owe part of the profits. At least it's not like anything else could possibly go wrong with this job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch and Dent

The first thing that Bala-Tik did after he informed the First Order that Han Solo had run off with the droid they were looking for was to return to his own ship and contact King Prana on the subspace radio. "Have I got a deal for you," he began, trying to tune out the insistent, deafening hiss of the staticky long-range connection as it crackled in his earpiece.

"Those sound like the words of a man who can't hold up his end of a bargain," said the unimpressed woman on the other end. Bala-Tik knew that he had to tread carefully. Although King Prana himself would be unlikely to take precious time out of his busy schedule to handle the matter of the rathtars personally, he would undoubtedly also have empowered his intermediaries to do whatever needed to be done on his behalf. Their displeasure might be as dangerous as the king's own.

"Hardly!" he said, forcing a chuckle. "While it's true that the Guavian Death Gang is not presently able to provide King Prana with the three rathtars he requested…"

"Why not?"

"Although our subcontractor was indeed able to capture three rathtars, I regret to inform you that one of the creatures recently met with an unfortunate hyperdrive accident. However, the remaining pair is healthy and contained. Mostly."

"The contract was for three rathtars, alive and fully intact. Not for two that are 'mostly' healthy."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that. And of course we would adjust the agreed-upon price accordingly, in light of the reduced quantity and condition of the merchandise." Bala-Tik glanced at the monitors in the cockpit. His pilot Ardoona had conveniently patched the video feeds from the _Eravana_ into them. One of the surviving rathtars was still gnawing on a few members of Kanjiklub who hadn't managed to escape to their ship in time. He made a mental note to close off the compartment it was in so it couldn't get loose again. The other was rolling around aimlessly in the corridor junction in which it had somehow gotten sealed, dark ichor dripping from the stumps of tentacles severed by the closing door. _I guess they're scratch and dent rathtars now,_ he thought. _Scratch and Dent, rathtars._ A joyless, inappropriate grin plastered itself across his face.

"My apologies, negotiator, but my instructions from King Prana were quite plain. I am to bring him three rathtars or none at all."

A dreadful, sinking feeling took up residence in Bala-Tik's gut. "Surely we can provide him with a third rathtar if he will only give us more time to acquire it. Might we at least sell him the two we have - at a vastly reduced cost, I remind you - in order to free up the capital to hunt and trap the replacement beast?"

"King Prana is not in the business of making loans to third-rate smugglers."

"Oh, come on, we're second-rate at least!"

King Prana's intermediary was not amused. "Begging and abasing yourself will not change King Prana's mind. You will have to find someone else to relieve you of your unwanted cargo. As of this moment you may consider yourself released from your contract. Good day."

The transmission ended, denying Bala-Tik the final word. He ripped off his headset and threw it to the floor. Behind him Ardoona was letting out a string of increasingly inventive Rodian curses. He understood exactly how she felt. This was going to be more difficult than he had expected.

* * *

The regent of the Mol'leaj system was the next person Bala-Tik called. He hated having to travel for three of the seventeen days that remained to them before they had to depart for their rendezvous with War Lady Toko, but Mol'leaj was still their best chance for the quick and easy sale they desperately needed. Toko had made it abundantly clear that she would tolerate no further delays. She needed the money that the Guavian Death Gang owed her as surely as they had needed Han Solo's. Undoubtedly, Toko herself had a loan coming due from another more powerful warlord, who in turn needed Toko's money to pay off his own boss, who probably needed it to bribe a planetary governor, who would then secretly hire scum like Han Solo to do various types of dirty work. Each of them had their part to play in the complex ecosystem of galactic organized crime. Bala-Tik could not have escaped his position in this particular food chain even if he had wanted to try.

Ardoona brought the _Eravana_ , with which the Guavian Death Gang's own ship was still docked, into orbit around Mol'leaj IV. The regent and his entourage flew up in a shuttle to meet them. Bala-Tik stood in the main cargo hold with a full complement of red-armored soldiers at his back, nervously itching the spot where his cybernetic leg met flesh. He forced himself to straighten up and act like a professional as the hatch slid open and the regent and his entourage walked in.

The dominant race on Mol'leaj IV was a sort of bipedal blue lizard. Bala-Tik didn't know much about their culture or their characteristics, but he could tell the regent was a juvenile by the fact that he was much smaller than his attendants - perhaps the size of a five-year-old human child. Without being asked, one of the regent's attendants got down on hands and knees to serve as a footstool upon which the regent could stand and peer at the rathtars through the security camera feeds. The regent glared up at Bala-Tik with his scaly purple bottom lip jutting out. "Where's the third one? I thought there were going to be three of them."

"Your Majesty," Bala-Tik began. He looked from the pouting regent to his attendants and back, uncertain of whom to address. "It is true that we have only two rathtars available for sale today. That is why we are able to offer you such an excellent bargain."

"I don't _want_ two rathtars!" Petulantly, the regent stomped his foot. The attendant he was standing on top of grunted in discomfort. "Only three. The Duke of Koshulun has three rancors for his gladiatorial chasms. King Prana has three rathtars. I want three too."

Bala-Tik gritted his teeth. "Actually, Your Majesty, King Prana presently has _zero_ rathtars."

"Ah, so King Prana declined this offer as well?" asked one of the other attendants, in a light and airy tone that didn't fool Bala-Tik for a moment. "In that case, negotiator, you would do well not to remind His Majesty that His Majesty was your second-choice customer."

"My apologies," Bala-Tik said with his jaw still clenched. "What I meant to say, Your Majesty, is that even with only two rathtars I am sure you will still be the envy of your peers."

"That is for His Majesty to decide," said the attendant.

All eyes in the cargo hold turned to the regent. He took a last glance at the monitor and said, "No." He jumped down from the back of his kneeling attendant, who let out a groan of relief, and extended his arms up toward the one who had just been speaking. "Carry me." The other attendant picked the regent up and shrugged at Bala-Tik as if to say, _Sorry, I can't help you._ Without another word the contingent from Mol'leaj IV retreated from the cargo bay. "When we get back to our ship I want some gizka nuggets and warm dianoga blood."

"Of course, Your Majesty," said the attendant. Then the hatch slid closed behind them and left him alone with the Guavian Death Gang and the _Eravana_ and the rathtars all over again.

* * *

They went back to Jakku. What else could they do? They had wasted too much time in the Mol'leaj system, and at least they still had contacts on Jakku. It was through these previously untapped connections that Bala-Tik and a few soldiers ended up in the smoke-filled, dusty throne room of Nargga the Hutt's palace, which had obviously seen better days. Years ago, this palace had always been clogged with the Hutt's enforcers and sycophants and petitioners and hangers-on. Now those few who remained were nearly outnumbered by the members of the out-of-tune jizz band on the small corner stage, who fumbled through old standards while a scantily clad Twi'lek danced half-heartedly to the ragged beat. Bala-Tik bowed before Nargga's dais and said, "Have I got a deal for you."

"I know all about your little cargo problem," Nargga said in her deep, booming voice. If nothing else, the reach of her spy network had clearly not diminished with time. "What makes you think I have any use for a pair of rathtars?"

"Why, to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies, of course! No one would dare risk your displeasure if they knew you could throw them into a pit of hungry rathtars at any moment!"

"And why should I be interested in that?"

"It's tradition, isn't it? We've all heard the stories of how Jabba the Hutt fed his defeated foes to the sarlacc that lived in the Great Pit of Carkoon. Rathtars are distant relatives of sarlaccs. But better, because they're smaller and mobile!"

"You humans always think all Hutts are as stupid as Jabba." The throne room had gone very quiet, even the band wheezing to a dissonant halt mid-song. Bala-Tik was suddenly, painfully aware that everyone else in the room had blasters close at hand - even the Twi'lek dancer, though Bala-Tik couldn't imagine where he might have concealed it before. The Guavian Death Gang soldiers had noticed it too, and rested their hands on the butts of their rifles. The reservoir pumps in their chests would have already begun dumping the familiar performance-enhancing chemicals into their bloodstreams, readying them for a fight. He swallowed hard and tried not to take his eyes off Nargga as she continued to speak.

"Tossing someone in a big hole with a wild animal and hoping it eats them is an absurd and inefficient way to carry out an execution," said Nargga. "It might work on your average small-time criminal, but what happens when someone comes along who's smarter than that? That's why Jabba got strangled on his sail barge by some slave in metal undergarments, and why his sarlacc only ended up dining on his own people. No, if I want somebody dead, I just shoot them." Her large eyes rolled toward the gun-toting band in the corner. "As you've noticed. Even if I could afford to buy such ridiculous creatures, I would never do it. I'd end up looking like a fool."

"As always, your analysis of the situation is both nuanced and trenchant," said Bala-Tik.

"Of course it is," Nargga said with a low chuckle. "Now get out of my sight before I decide to show you how efficient my methods of execution can be."

* * *

The nearest spaceport cantina was even shabbier and more run-down than Nargga's palace. The tiled floor was half-covered with drifts of coarse sand that the patrons had tracked in from the desert outside. Faint music pumped in through tinny speakers in the ceiling; the owner couldn't even afford to hire a band. The first thing Bala-Tik saw when he entered the building with the soldiers following after him was KO-D6 at her usual table by the door. "Pre-emptive Threat: If you attempt to involve me in another ludicrous, overly complicated scheme that is doomed to failure, I will tear your non-cybernetic leg from its socket," she said. For some reason, protocol droids always seemed to make particularly unyielding gang bosses, and KO-D6 was no exception.

"Oh, come on, KO-D6," said Bala-Tik. "What makes you think that I would-"

"Irritated Interruption: You are very predictable for an organic, Bala-Tik. Besides, I am unable to partake in gainful employment at the moment, even if your proposal were remotely attractive."

"Why not?"

"Explanation: The Corellian spaceport authority saw fit to impound my ship and deport my crew to Jakku due to a misunderstanding surrounding import and export duties."

"You got caught smuggling on Corellia? I'm impressed. You have to _work_ to achieve that."

"Statement of Finality: I have nothing more to say to you regarding this matter."

"Have it your way," muttered Bala-Tik as he continued on into the cantina. He wasn't really here to see KO-D6 anyway. The time had come to employ a different strategy.

The actual object of Bala-Tik's attention was a short squat human man in a dirty jumpsuit who sat in a small alcove near the back, puffing on a hookah and blowing smoke rings up toward the ceiling. When Garr Jarrde saw the Guavian Death Gang approaching him, he panicked and started searching for an escape route. Finding none, he lost his balance on the chair and inadvertently tipped it back on two legs to bump against the stucco wall. The soldiers surrounded him and righted the chair, none too gently. "Oh, Bala-Tik, so nice to see you again," Jarrde stammered. "You should know I'm working every day on getting you the money I owe you."

"Not good enough," said Bala-Tik, smirking viciously. After so much time spent at the mercy of warlords, wild animals, and would-be customers, it was nice to be in control of a situation for once. He gave a slight nod to one of the soldiers, who grabbed Jarrde's arm, bent it behind his back, and slammed his upper body down into the table. "It's been more than two standard years since we bailed you and your crew out on Nar Shaddaa. You still owe us for the bribe and our expenses, plus interest." Bala-Tik knew perfectly well that even if Jarrde somehow came through with the entire amount of his debt, it wouldn't be enough to cover all of what the Guavian Death Gang owed to War Lady Toko. But at least it would be something, which was more than the nothing they had now.

"You know I don't do that stuff anymore," Jarrde sniveled. "I'm a moisture farmer now."

"I hope you're a good moisture farmer, then," said Bala-Tik. "You know your change of career doesn't cancel your debts to us. Otherwise we'd all just quit."

"All right, all right! I'll pay up. Just let me go." Bala-Tik nodded again, and the soldier released his hold on Jarrde. "I just don't have all of it right now."

"What do you have?" asked Bala-Tik with a sinking feeling.

"It's been a hard season. Not as profitable as I'd hoped. Most of my credits are tied up in keeping the vaporators running. But if you come with me, I'll give you everything I can spare. That is, so long as you don't mind getting part of the payment in kind…"

* * *

"A bantha?" said Ardoona incredulously. "What are we supposed to do with a bantha?"

"I don't know," said Bala-Tik. "Keep in one of the cargo bays. Feed it. Shovel its shit. Hold on to it until we find a use for it. Garr Jarrde clearly thought it had some value."

"Garr Jarrde is a fool and you shouldn't have let him scam you like this."

"Maybe so. But if I kill him, how will I ever get the rest of what he owes me? Regardless, all our leads on Jakku have dried up. We're going to have to take our chances going closer to the Core and hope we sell them fast enough to meet up with Toko on time. Hosnian Prime isn't that far, and I'm sure we'll find a buyer there."

In the pilot's chair, Ardoona was scrolling through whatever slow-loading, fragmentary HoloNet news feeds she could access. "Actually, I'm getting reports out of Coruscant that the entire Hosnian system was just destroyed by some sort of superweapon."

"Fuck," said Bala-Tik.

* * *

"I'm telling you, this is the opportunity of a lifetime," Bala-Tik said to Lieutenant Rell Cormin, his contact within the First Order. "Imagine the look on Kylo Ren's face when you present him with his very own pair of rathtars."

"He wears a mask," Rell said, frowning at the creatures on the _Eravana_ 's monitors. She smoothed the already-crisp hem of her uniform coat and brushed a few stray strands of blonde hair away from her face. She'd already done Bala-Tik a favor by coming to meet him in orbit of Jakku. He hoped he was clever enough to convince her to do him one more. Even so, he hated having to involve her in his problem at all. He'd only done it because even after collecting every debt owed to him and calling in every marker, he still didn't have enough to pay off War Lady Toko. Desperate times really did call for desperate measures.

"It was a figure of speech," said Bala-Tik.

"I know. The look on his face is what I'm afraid of. What would he do with rathtars anyway? More than likely, he'll just think I'm making fun of him and then go chop up some droids with that ridiculous lightsaber of his."

"So what if he does? He might come around to them eventually. And the last time I checked, you're not a droid. And I checked pretty thoroughly." Bala-Tik gave Rell what he hoped was a charming, disarming smile.

Rell sighed. "You're trying to make this into another 'once more for old times' sake' thing. It won't work. There are good reasons that we can't be together, Bala-Tik. I can't let myself get involved with you again, and you know it."

He let his smile drop, let himself show her some of the growing anxiety he really felt. "I'm in a bad spot here, Rell. I need these credits badly - and soon. Can you help me? Please?"

"Not like this." She turned to him, seeming serious and a little sad. "Big things are starting to happen again in the galaxy. They're not the sort of things that people like you and me want to get involved in. The best we can do if we want to survive is to stay small and stay out of the way. So no, I'm not going to do anything that might draw Kylo Ren's attention to me. To someone like him, standing out in any way, positive or negative, just makes you his target. I'm doing this for your own good. And for mine."

"Help me, Rell," he said. "You're my only hope." But she was already walking away. The worst part of it was that she was probably right. Even so, things had now gone well past the point where he could afford to be so cautious. 

* * *

"Look," said Bala-Tik into the headset microphone. "I know you stayed in touch with Solo after you fought with him in the Rebellion. He's not going to want to talk to me, it's true, but could you at least tell me where to find him now? I need to apologize to him. And to do some business."

"Haven't you heard?" said the voice on the other end of the subspace radio channel. "Han Solo is dead. He got caught up with that whole thing on Starkiller Base. They say he was on the planet when it blew. That man never could stay away from a hopeless cause."

Bala-Tik stabbed at the "end transmission" button on the communications console, yelled wordlessly in frustration, and launched a furious kick at the hull of the cockpit. His cybernetic leg sent a loud, pleasing _gong_ sound vibrating through the metal plating. "Calm down," said Ardoona.

"Why should I?" he half-shouted. "I've tried everything I can think of to get rid of these stupid rathtars, but the whole galaxy seems to be against me! This is all Solo's fault, and he didn't even have the decency to let me come crawling back to him before he got himself killed! War Lady Toko isn't going to care one bit about everything that went wrong or how hard I tried to get her money. No, I'm just stuck with these useless creatures and this worthless pile of junk freighter that Solo dumped on me…"

He trailed off as an idea he hadn't previously considered began to form in his mind. Judging by the way the spines on Ardoona's green-skinned head were twitching with excitement and by the spark of inspiration in her flat black eyes, she was thinking the same thing. "Except the freighter isn't worthless," she said.

"And I can think of at least one being in the galaxy who might pay me what it's worth. Put me through to that cantina down on the planet." He adjusted his earpiece and waited while Ardoona opened the proper frequency, hailed the cantina, and got the bartender to chase down the patron he needed to speak to. "Hello, KO-D6? I know you said you didn't want to talk to me, but believe me, you'll want to hear this. Have I got a deal for you…"

* * *

"I can't believe you actually convinced KO-D6 to come up here and buy the _Eravana_ ," Ardoona said approvingly. "But we've got to get the rathtars into one of the secret compartments or she'll figure it out as soon as she gets on board."

"We'll just need to lure them inside," said Bala-Tik. "It won't be hard. They're hungry. They haven't eaten anything since they ate Kanjiklub."

Ardoona looked doubtful. "I don't see anyone lining up to volunteer as bait for that trap."

From the other side of the cargo hold, the bantha mooed nervously.

* * *

Bala-Tik watched from the cockpit of the Guavian Death Gang's ship as the _Eravana_ , now wholly owned by KO-D6 and her gang along with all its contents, made the jump to hyperspace. Both he and Ardoona breathed out sighs of relief as they saw the freighter's bulky outline elongate and then vanish into a tiny white starburst. "How long do you think it's going to take them to find the rathtars?" Ardoona asked.

"Hopefully long enough for us to put a few star systems between us and them. Lay in a course for War Lady Toko's orbital platform, would you?"

"Right away, boss."

He kept staring out the viewscreen as Ardoona worked, at Jakku below them and at the stars beyond them. The small metal box full of credits that KO-D6 had given him in exchange for the _Eravana_ was heavy in his hands. It wasn't anywhere close to what a _Baleen_ -class freighter was actually worth on the open market, and they all knew it. But it would pay off what they owed to War Lady Toko, with a little left over to keep the Guavian Death Gang flying until they found their next job. For now, at least, it would have to be enough.

"What are you thinking about?" Ardoona asked him as the hyperdrive spun up.

"Just some things that Rell told me. She's right, you know. People like us don't do any of those big things she talked about. We don't topple empires or blow up superweapons or duel our enemies or awaken to the Force. Thing is, I'm not so sure we _can_ stay out of the way of the people who do. All we can do is keep our own ships in order and take what we need when we find it. We have to live in this galaxy, too."

"Good thing it's a big galaxy, then."

"Sometimes it seems like it's not nearly big enough."

"Is it at least big enough to keep us away from rathtars for a while?"

"Definitely," he said. The whine of the hyperdrive reached a crescendo, and Ardoona pressed the button to activate it. The stars stretched out bright white against the black of space around them, pulling them forward into whatever came next.


End file.
